


Sore winners

by orphan_account



Series: Pant-bustin' crush [5]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in Vegas when Jake disappears for several hours and turns up later, stripped, bound, and dumped in a service elevator. He says he doesn't remember what happened to him, but perhaps it's more true to say he would rather forget.</p><p>Either way, the Losers are there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sore winners

**Author's Note:**

> Dark, no schmoop, not much comfort. My depravity knows no bounds. Poor Jake.
> 
> Also, this is a character study, not a police report, so my apologies for any inaccuracies or unlikelihoods.

How they ever managed do this to Jensen - well, it would have been difficult, but not impossible, thought Clay as he watched through the window of the ER. His tech genius lay wrapped in blankets on a gurney, limbs twisted into a defensive not-quite-fetal posture, his back to the window; Clay couldn't tell whether he was conscious.

Someone pulled a privacy curtain over the window, but Clay went on staring at the rough weave of the blue fabric, seeing all over again the place where they'd found Jensen, so few hours ago.

The hotel was a four-star place on the Strip, a temporary palace for high rollers and lucky stiffs, but he wasn't found in one of the sleek rooms. No, Jensen had been stripped and tied and dumped in a service elevator, one of the less used ones, so that by the time a custodian heard a thin voice crying for help, the goons were long gone. 

Clay had been listening to the police scanner out of habit when the call had come in. He had shown up at the scene, displayed his credentials to the police, and been permitted into a room next to the area where they were prepping Jake for transport. He sent Pooch and Cougar out to comb the Vegas wilderness for intel; Aisha had been informed of the situation but was unable to abandon her cover.

There was a paramedic wrapping a blanket around long, otherwise bare legs, and another one up near Jensen's head, asking the usual questions: do you know where you are? your name? what day it is? do you have any allergies? have you been drinking/taking drugs? on a scale of one to ten, how's the pain? Clay could just make out the sound of Jensen's name, rank, and serial number, muttered repeatedly between clenched teeth; he couldn't see Jensen's face. 

Another blanket was produced and wrapped around the prone man, then a gurney was wheeled in. When the medics got into position to roll their patient onto it, Clay saw his eyes flitting around the room as though trying to assess its contents, marking the people in it, noting the escape route. 

"Where are his glasses?" asked Clay in a quiet voice, and one of the cops shook his head.

"Didn't find any glasses."

Jensen's head jerked around toward the sound. Clay knew he couldn't see worth shit, so he spoke slightly louder. 

"It's Clay, Jensen. I'm here, I'm going to keep an eye on everything for you, okay?"

Jensen let his head fall back, and his eyes closed.

@@@

In the emergency center at the hospital, Clay had heard some of the conversation among the medical personnel as they bustled around the gurney, setting up monitors and scans and taking notes.

"Possible concussion. Abrasions around the neck, wrists, and ankles. Bruising around the corners of the mouth. Can't get his mouth open, there's blood on his chin but I can't tell from where. Dislocated shoulder. Take it easy, son - all right, we can do that later. Nice tattoo over here. What's the EMT report say? A *what*?"

The doc paused, seemed to gather his thoughts.

"All right. Close the curtains, Will, and the door, and we'll unwrap him."

@@@

Hours later, Clay sat next to the bed and watched Jensen sleep.

His face was bruised and stubbly, unfamiliarly immobile. There was the standard IV running into the back of his hand, and his left shoulder had been immobilized after they'd set it back in place. Without his glasses he looked even younger.

The doc had given Clay preliminary tox results: blood alcohol levels reassuringly low, no sign of narcotics or psychoactives. Negative test for AIDS or other STDs.

Clay could guess why they'd run the test for STDs, and it made his blood boil.

Pooch called to check in, reporting that he and Cougar were back in their hotel room. Aisha was under cover waiting tables at the Sahara and was due off at six a.m.

"All right," said Clay, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm coming back to try to sleep for a bit. Jensen's under heavy sedation, he's better off unconscious right now. Did he have a spare set of glasses?"

"Yeah, it's in his kit over here. He left his wrist unit here too - the casinos wouldn't let him wear it. Something about unknown devices interfering with their electronics."

"What did you find out about the incident?" Clay started walking toward the hospital exit.

"The cops found the room where the suspects were staying," said Pooch. "Found Jensen's glasses, smashed in the bathroom sink. Along with a ton of empty bottles, used needles, and dirty laundry. And a bunch of short bungee tie-downs." He paused and then asked, "Do you think that was - "

"I'm not thinking, Pooch," Clay interrupted. "Once I start thinking, I start speculating. We have to get hold of some cold hard facts."

@

Clay was back at the hospital that afternoon. There was a police officer stationed outside the door to Jensen's room, who nodded to Clay as he approached.

"Morning, sir," said the cop. 

"Morning, officer," Clay replied. "Has anyone taken his statement yet?" At the other man's suspicious expression, Clay added, "I'm his commanding officer," and whipped out his military ID.

"He hasn't been lucid enough," the policeman replied then. "See for yourself."

Clay went in. Jensen was lying on his side, one arm curled over his stomach, his knees pulled up as far as possible in the narrow bed. The monitors showed his vitals as more or less normal.

"Hey, Jake," said Clay softly, sitting beside the bed. "I brought your spare glasses, I'll put them here on the nightstand."

Clay wasn't sentimental, but he knew from painful experience that when a man was down he needed to know his team was there to pick up the pieces. Even if those pieces were still unconscious and sharp-edged.

"Pooch and Cougar are looking for the bastards that attacked you," he went on. "The cops are short handed, so we're sharing intel with them, when we can find it. Aisha's still working the evening shift, so she'll come by before she goes on. If you're lucky she'll model her outfit for you, it's a doozy."

He noticed a quiver under Jake's eyelids.

"Hey kid, you awake?" He leaned in, watched Jake's eyes crack open and then close again as Jake muttered something.

"Clay - " Jake's voice cracked, dry. "Ow. Shit."

Clay held a straw to his lips and he slurped some water and opened his eyes again, barely.

"Hurts," he said succinctly. "Everything hurts. What's this?" He tried to lift the hand with the IV in it and winced.

"You're in a hospital in Vegas. That's an IV, morphine I think, and I have your glasses if you want 'em."

Jake held out his hand and took the glasses, managed to get them on without lifting his head. Looked around a bit, his gaze settling on Clay sitting patiently watching him.

"What happened?" Jake asked.

"Hell if I know," Clay replied. "You talked to the doc yet?"

"I don't think so. I can't remember."

"What's the last thing you do remember?"

Jake was quiet for so long that Clay thought he was going to fall asleep again. At last he said, "The casino - the one with the tower, you know? Walking in, looking around."

"That's it?" Typical of someone with head trauma, and in this case, almost a blessing. Almost. "Do you remember being in a hotel room with some other people?"

Jake frowned, then answered slowly.

"No...not really...was that real?"

His voice trailed off again and his face went blank.

"I can't," he said then, in a choked tone. "I can't remember."

@

He was in the hospital for a few more days, the rest of the Losers wrapped up their job, then went to spring him on their way out of town.

Pooch wished they could have kept the stretch Hummer; as soon as Jake landed in the back seat he closed his eyes and lay his head back, folded up in a corner. Cougar sat next to him, still and silent, as usual, strange without the counterpoint of Jake's chatter. The other three kept sneaking looks at Jake, as if he might explode.

It was a short trip, less than a day, to their next destination, this one a small cottage on the beach outside Pismo. Jake stirred himself and stretched and smiled, and helped carry their stuff in. Clay and Pooch went out to buy food.

Cougar came to the door of the room Aisha had claimed and leaned on the doorjamb, watching her take a few things out of her bag. When she looked up and said, "Where's Jake?" the man jerked his chin toward the window.

Jake was standing knee deep in the shallows, hands in his pockets, staring out toward the horizon. As they watched, Aisha realized he was talking, not a surprise, but with no one to listen. An imaginary audience? After a minute Jake's hands came out of his pockets to gesticulate. Punching the air, flinging up in disgust, and from the back they could see him using great gouts of air to yell with.

Aisha made a move to go out, but Cougar took her hand and held it and they watched. Watched as the tirade ran down and Jake stood panting, head hanging, and stripped off his clothes, stepped into the sea, crouched down to let the waves wash over his head.

When he stood up again, turning to look back at the house, the other two faded silently out of his line of sight.

Clay came in, and Pooch, and Clay asked, "Where's Jensen?"

"On the beach," said Aisha. "You forgot the Froot Loops again."

Jake came back in, damp but fully dressed and with a hint of his cocky demeanor. They ate and sketched out the plan for tomorrow; then Clay said he was going for a walk and Pooch hunkered down in front of Jake's laptop to chat with Jolene.

Cougar went back to the room he was sharing with Jake and started to disrobe. It was dark outside, but early yet, so when Jake came in, he asked, "You turning in already, Coug?"

Cougar shrugged. "Getting back in cycle," he said shortly. 

"Yeah, Vegas fucks with my sleep-wake rhythm, too," said Jake. He fished something out of the bag lying on his bed and went into the shared bathroom. Cougar heard the click of a lock and noted it as unusual for Jake.

He went out in the hall in his jeans and hat and found Aisha; they spoke softly for a minute and then went back to their rooms.

Jake came out of the head and returned to his room, closing the door behind him. When he saw where Cougar was, he froze.

"Coug," he managed to say through the choke in his throat. His friend was stretched out on his side on Jake's bed, clad only in a pair of briefs.

"So, um, I'll take the other bed after all, huh?"

Cougar shook his head. There was a soft tap at the door and Jake stepped aside to let Aisha in. She was stripped down to bra and panties. Taking Jake's hand, she brought him closer to the bed and said, "Time for bed, big guy."

Jake's expression showed confusion, alarm, and - shame.

"Guys, I can't," he said roughly. "I'm not - I got really banged up, I'm a hurtin' unit. I'll just keep you awake, tossing and turning."

"We don't care." This, surprisingly, from Cougar, who wasn't forthcoming as a rule. "Get in, _mijo_ , and lie down. We'll watch out for you."

Aisha sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss Cougar. Just watching their languid, sweet exchange was like a salve to Jake's nerves. He pulled his shirt off over his head, emptied his pockets and pushed his shorts down and off, leaving on the clean boxer briefs he'd put on in the bathroom.

Cougar's hand was in Aisha's hair; Jake could see a brief glimpse of their tongues tangling before Aisha drew away and smiled at the man in the bed. Then she turned and held out her hand to Jake, who came over and took it, wondering what came next.

Cougar turned his face to the wall and Aisha guided Jake to lie behind the other man, laying his glasses aside, and then she slid in behind Jake, all three bodies touching but not pressing. Jake's arms were folded over his chest, and Aisha curled one arm around his shoulder; Cougar slid a foot between Jake's calves, just resting there, connected.

"Sleep, Jake," said Aisha.

"We got your back," Cougar murmured.

Jake pulled him close and Aisha snuggled closer and they slept.


End file.
